


Fate Could Not Stop for Me

by victoriae350



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriae350/pseuds/victoriae350
Summary: And from the Fade she came. Not the hostile they thought, nor the the threat they feared. Indeed, they'd make assumptions. But she'd rise above it all, and become the hero they needed.





	1. Prologue: Dreams that Fade

**From the Journal of Arwen Lavellan**

_I was summoned. If not by someone then something._

_The clan keeper said that elves are…different. How? I am not sure. No one has bothered to reveal such details. I can't say I blame them. Running into a being with pointy ears in a rounded world might trip them up a little. But if that is all they see to form their opinions, I have no desire in any fibre of my being to be near them. And yet, my fascination doesn't waver I still yearn to learn what I can._

_I know why Dalish elves believe what they believe. Though at times I'm uncertain. But the rest of the world is a mystery; even city elves. Why would they bother to hide? Especially when the world has so much for us to unravel? Wouldn't it be better to wander forest and desserts? Seek new jewels and beliefs? To gather what little information we can find? Share it with the world? Change the world with the truth?_

_The truth. What is the truth?_

_If the truth were important, would clan keeper still send me to this…talk? Would these peace talks mean anything? Do they mean anything now? Would discussing and debating call for something better than peace? A solution? What good is peace when nothing is achieved?_

_All these questions; my head threatens to burst. There are too many of them. With each unanswered question, I feel an undesirable presence. I cannot explain it. But I was summoned…if not by someone, then by curiosity and a desire to understand. For if I do not foresee the outcome of these talks, who shall? When shall they do it?_

_I must take the reigns. Even if i am on solitude ground._

* * *

There was a deep aura, something beyond her understanding. The elf Arwen Lavellan reached out towards the purple meadow. Her fingers touched the delicate, smooth textures of the amethyst flowers. They blossomed and glowed brighter than the sun at her touch. The sky lit up, beautiful blues flowed and danced with the breeze. She'd never seen anything like this. It was like the earth had woken up. Blossomed at her presence. But if it was like this with her, it must be the same with anyone else who journeyed here. Perhaps. She'd never know.

And there was something. She couldn't put her finger on it. The way the flowers before her stood. Trees beyond the meadow sagged in their shadows. The great glistening orb in the sky was a distant memory…if it ever existed here. And there was a pond. One her eyes hadn't fallen upon until now. Feet away, it lay still and lifeless. Only the small breeze ruffled it slightly with small ripples.

Arwen wanted to reach out and touch the smooth surface. She longed for the feeling of cold, cool water against the tips of her fingers. How it played with her hair, danced around her body as she bathed. Not a shadowy figure crept. She felt no pair of eyes fixed on her movements. There wasn't any sign of small prey disturbing the silence.

But her arms never reached for the end of her shirt, or the buckle around her petite waist. Rather, they reached towards a delicate flower that sat in the middle of the haze. The others were purple, and yellow as they shone. This one was a deep crimson red with yellow tips, and a deep blue stem. A black mist danced around its delicate, textured petals. The entire world ached of beauty. But the dark, damp mist screamed. In many ways, she could hear its voice louder than the rest. Something it had hidden from her.

This red, murderous flower fit in. Why? Despite its colour contradicting that in which surrounded it, it stood tall. It heaved over the others, casting a great shadow. If there weren't such a gathering of amethyst flowers, you'd swear there were none at all. And yet it didn't fall and cower. There was something…and she couldn't put her finger on it. Arwen stretched out her small hand, and just as her fingers brushed against it's petals, there was a flash, and she was on her back. Her eyes stared up once more at the ocean sky, and darkness fell over.


	2. From the Dawn, I Rise

The field smelt of must and fresh grass. A great, orange flaming colour burst forth. It was the first thing Arwen noticed when her eyes opened. The little orb of glass that had settled into the night sky as she had fallen asleep the previous night was gone. Now, apparently, the ball of flame had taken its place. Great blue sky over shadowed the little twinkling lights she’d seen earlier.

 

Above her was no roof, or walls to enclose her body. Instead, she set her focus on the birds as they soared off to who knows where. Her heart warmed at the familiar feeling of long grass brushing against her legs and cheeks; and the breeze that cut through the air. She felt like she’d get up, and see bodies curled against the muddy ground, snores singing together like a choir. And then, when those bodies had risen from their sluggish dreams, feet would lead them beyond. To their imaginations greatest desires, and a world made free with their own wanderings.

 

A longing crept into her heart that moment. If only she had such a pleasure. To roam the world without any responsibilities or dependant parties. Maybe she’d do something worthwhile. But the stinging pain in her left hand said otherwise. She lifted it. From within, a green glow burst forth. And a dull burn escalated. Maybe, just maybe, the nightmare of the last few days had been a terrible dream.

 

From beneath the grass, Arwen stretched her arms towards the sky. Then with one great yawn, she allows herself one great yawn and a moment before pushing her back off the slopes. And at that moment, her eyes gaze over her surroundings.

 

To her right many feet away is a great rock wall beneath wood spikes. There are stable buildings, and a great Chantry that shadows the small village. Haven. The very sound of the word sends shudders down Arwen’s spine. One letter away from ‘heaven.’ Maybe that’s what the original builders intended. Arwen didn’t know. Though, she hoped to visit the library later to check out the meaning.

 

But it provided her with proof. The last few days hadn’t been one giant nightmare. The mark on her hand stung with great power, but she ignored it and set towards the campsite just outside Haven. She could see it from where she stood. There are drawn tents scattered around, and men and women with swords and shields swooshing and clashing. They lock their gaze with their partners, and lunge.

 

The few not participating stood a part. Arwen noted that this was probably true because they hadn’t bothered attacking another living member of the party. A young woman was aggressively lunging at a wooden dummy on the outskirts of the petite training grounds. She neither flinched nor watched the others. Instead, her grave stare focused solely on her “partner.”

 

From her black hair and grim look, Arwen hadn’t bothered doubting who it was. Cassandra never bothered to properly introduce herself, but Arwen didn’t blame her. However, she still had a bad taste in her mouth about the lady.

 

Cassandra caught her eye, and Arwen politely nodded.

 

The other person of interest was, in a sense, opposite of grim Cassandra. His hair was blonde, and he was drowning in a set of fur armour. Arwen noted the intense look on his face as he switched between soldiers, staring at each and calmly barking instructions. She’d decided that she had found something attractive about him. Arwen found him strange and a little underwhelming, but Cullen (which, she believed, was a interesting name for someone in this part of Ferelden) hadn’t bothered to step on her toes.

 

There were some questions bubbling on her lips. Few, of course, she believed he could answer alone. But they were screaming in desperation and hopelessness.

 

For a moment she stopped in her tracks, arguing with little voices in her head. One insisted she not wimp out, and approach him with these questions. And another insisted they were appropriate for later. Perhaps, at a time when the war council had gathered? But the third was threatening to throw her questions into a rune stone, and seal them away forever. Were they really important?

 

Arwen shot a glance at her marked hand. There was too much to ask; too little she should ignore. But the meeting had been scheduled for later. Was there a point?

 

She set away from the training grounds and towards a large door embedded in the wall. The questions would have to wait. There was too much to prepare. She’d have her chance later.

 

The great wooden door flew open, and the small village of Haven was visible. This time, she could see more. In front were some drawn tents. Buildings were scattered around the small plot of land, and at the belly of the beast was the Chantry. A tall building that left the rest in its shadows. She took one look at it. Her stomach flipped.

 

Was there any specific reason why the clerics and divines presence was necessary in every settlement? The few she’d seen all had their “own chantrys.” Each boring and sickening like the last; and all grand, and few without several dozen glaring eyes. Sometimes a figure would approach, and in one-way or another, insist they vacate the premises. ‘They’ refer to Arwen and whoever was brave enough to venture into settlements with large crowds. Other times, Arwen and her friends were like ghosts lingering only long enough to catch a glimpse.

 

She started down the path, but halted the moment her eyes fixated upon a short man with orange hair and a crimson red top. He knelt beside a fire that roared in front of him. Something drew Arwen to approach him.

 

He didn’t say anything at first, but stared at the warm, orange flames. It wasn’t until she stood a foot or two away that he spoke, “So, now that Cassandra is out of earshot…are you holding up all right?”

 

Was this a trick question? Was there something in particular he was fishing for? She had no idea. Arwen wished she could jump into the minds of every living person she had and would talk to her in life. Then, maybe, she could dig up the right answers.

 

He, Varric, got up and approached her slowly, “I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

 

“After all that?” Arwen thought about awaking to discover a tear in the sky, “I’m glad I’m still standing.”

 

“I still can’t believe you survived Cassandra,” He said. Indeed, it seemed as much a miracle as anything. She’d noted the frightened looks the other soldiers threw her as she practiced, “you’re lucky you were out cold for most of her frothing rage. For days we’ve been staring at the breach watching demons and maker knows what falling out of it. Bad for moral would be an understatement.”

 

Maybe so, but Arwen wished she’d been present to watch the explosion that created the breach. If not for purposes that related to her mark, then to understand why and how it got there.

 

“I still can’t believe anyone was in there lived.”

 

If she’d been in his position, she would’ve thought the same, “It’s pure luck.”

 

“Good luck or bad?” He asked, “You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to realize where this is going. Hero’s are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky…” He trailed off for a moment, “that’s beyond hero’s. We’re going to need a miracle.”

 

“Miracles happen everyday,” Arwen noted out loud, pausing to offer a small smile, “if one is to occur, it will happen.”

 

“I…suppose it’s possible.”

 

If only Arwen had a set confident feeling in her gut. However, where there should have been confidence was a twist…something that made her stomach gurgle and plea. For? She had no idea! If only she did.

 

Arwen set her eyes over the people scattered across the small village. Or those she could see. Few caught her eye. One, however, had their eyes set on her. She knew the moment they made eye content. The fellow wore what looked like dress robes, and a small hat on his head. His eyes turned to glare. He wore the symbol, and face of a cleric.

 

“Anything is possible…” Arwen mutters under her breath, and then walks away from the dwarf without waiting for a response.

 

_I am guilty because I was there. I am guilty because I survived. I am guilty because I am an elf._ These thoughts twirled around in her head like spiral clouds in the sky. With her mark, the breach had been dealt with…for now. Rifts had been closed. And people still strapped judgemental glares on her. It was as If they _wanted_ her to be guilty.

 

“Herald,” A voice exclaims from behind. Arwen’s eyes fell on Cullen who walked towards her, one hand resting on the handle of the sword latched to the waistline on his pants.

 

“Cullen,” Arwen greets, “is something wrong?”

 

“What? No,” They head up the stairs, and weave along the path, “I just wanted to update you. The horses have been fed. They should last until you reach the Hinterlands in a few weeks time.”

 

Arwen nodded, “Good to know. But—did you say horses?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So, more than one?”

 

Cullen frowned, “Of course.”

 

“I was under the impression I was making this journey alone.”

 

Cullen gazed towards the valley beyond the village walls, “The roads are too dangerous to travel alone. With the rifts, more and more demons roam the roads. You’re too valuable to be left alone.”

 

“You mean ‘the mark,’” Arwen corrected. He went quiet for a moment, but the prolonged silence answered for her. Arwen set her eyes away Cullen, “Makes sense. I won’t argue. If this…mark can close that thing in the sky, it must be kept safe.” More silence set in.

 

Arwen noted a look on Cullen’s face; it hadn’t been there a moment ago, “You’re…taking this a lot better than I anticipated.”

 

“Did you think I’d run screaming into the hills?” Arwen held back the black bitterness that was threatening to show itself.

 

“Of course not,” Cullen said quickly. They stood at the doors leading into the chantry, “nevermind. It isn’t important. What’s important is this journey. This may be the only chance we get to speak with someone with close ties. Mother Giselle may prove useful.”

 

Arwen nodded, “This voyage isn’t for pleasure. If we’re making it, she’d better have some useful information.”

 

“Leliana believes so,” Cullen noted. Arwen had been waiting for her name to be brought up. Or one of the others. Rarely did anything occur without a war council member, “Let me know when you wish to leave.” And with that, he pushed the doors of the Chantry open, leaving Arwen left to reflect.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have the attention span for long chapters, so most won't be too long. However, they shall be a quicker update. Hopefully this story makes it anywhere. I hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned! Chapter One is on its way.


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